Never Be the Same
by Kalarin
Summary: Jessie and Meowth fight and it quickly goes much too far.
1. Just an Accident

I guess this is a "what if" type of story. It has character death and the other characters dealing with it. It's either going to be sad or laughably dramatic.

There are bodily fluids mentioned, but not too much of it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon.

-O-o-O-

It wasn't supposed to happen this way.

One could say this was to be expected. Nothing Jessie, James, and Meowth were involved with ever turned out the way it was supposed to. They tried to capture Pikachu; they failed. They tried to make an honest dollar; they floundered. They tried to shed their Team Rocket status like an Arbok sheds skin and have at least a shot, however long, at competence for once in their lives; that pleasure eluded them. Underachievement beamed from them like their own personal halo, their aura neither dark nor light, but a sodden brown-green of ineptitude.

Who would've thought that the time one of them actually followed through with something, it would have much worse consequences than if he'd just sat there and sulked?

"There goes another failure for the records," James sighed as they trudged back to their shack.

"We wouldn't have any failures or records of them if someone would follow the plan," Jessie growled, her blue eyes staring daggers at Meowth.

"Why's it always my fault?" the cat snapped back.

"Are you stupid? I just said you seem to have an uncanny inability to follow instructions. Apparently, your speech comprehension is failing, too." Jessie, despite her hatred of premature wrinkles, couldn't stop her face from contorting.

"Half the time, I'm the one with the great plan, but you just can't let anyone tell you what to do, can you? Even if that'd mean we might actually not leave the scene bleeding." His whiskers twitched. His paws curled, as if connected to his whiskers.

Jessie wasn't inclined to listen to reason at that moment. "Well, it isn't a day unless we see some blood, is it?" She curled her hands into fists.

James stepped between them. "Don't start. Not now."

Jessie shoved him back, maybe a little harder than she'd meant to. James slammed against a nearby tree and slid to the grass.

Meowth didn't think. James had barely hit the ground before the cat sprung up and scratched at Jessie's face. Jessie moved fast–a little too fast. She leaned back to avoid Meowth's claws, her fists ready to knock him out when she came forward again. Meowth, intent on making his point, lurched further and swiped again.

It might have been better if he'd lost balance and fell on his face.

Jessie went sprawling backwards, her hands flailing to grab at her neck, but already limp as the blood left them. She fell with a thud to the grass, her arms framing her head and her legs crumpled. Meowth thought she was just being melodramatic until he saw the expanding red stain on the front of her white uniform, blending with the bright red "R."

He was probably completely still for a minute or so. Maybe. Time seemed to have slowed, so much that Jessie still hadn't gotten up.

Another couple of years passed before Meowth turned around to the tree next to him. James was still out, it appeared, but he was stirring. He was moving fast-with time slowed down and all, he was moving at a near normal speed. That's when he realized Jessie was completely still and she wasn't likely to start moving again.

Meowth crept towards Jessie, his eyes dipping in and put of focus as he came to her torso. He shut them completely as he approached her head. His foot hit something and out of instinct, he opened his eyes and looked down.

James's eyes, which had started to flutter seconds earlier, flew open at the scream. He rose slowly and tried not to pass out at the throbbing headache as he walked toward the noise.

Meowth was still screaming as far as he knew. He was screaming when he saw James come over (maybe louder then), he continued even after he fell over, and he was sure it was only getting louder as he curled up into a tiny ball. He may not have been screaming out loud, but he was certain his voice wasn't dying out soon.

When it finally did, Meowth wasn't grateful. The silence made him wish for the terrific noise of a few seconds ago. He dared to twist his neck up and look at his remaining partner.

James's blue mop fell over his down-turned face. Time must've slowed down again, Meowth thought, because he wasn't moving. Taken out of context, the scene could be mistaken for some sort of performance art piece involving wax figures and tomato juice. Then a gust of wind blew James's hair back and Meowth revoked that thought-he'd seen wax sculptures with more expression in their face than James had now.

Meowth wasn't sure what drove him into the next frenzied activity. He threw himself toward Jessie and sliced off a piece of her white top. He then began to press it onto her overflowing neck wound. It was soaked in seconds, so he cut another swatch and repeated the process. He removed her black gloves and repurposed them, but the blood kept coming-and Jessie's chest wasn't rising.

"I think she's gone, Meowth."

Meowth barely recognized the voice as James. "No, she'll be fine. I…I just need to stop the bleeding. Yeah." He pressed her other glove onto her neck. "She's still alive. I can fix this." He stretched his redden paw toward James. "Lend me your shirt, will ya."

No answer.

"James, I'm serious. She's gonna bleed to death if I don't apply the right pressure." He shook his paw. The other pressed the glove to her neck with more force, despite the glove's waning usefulness.

James only knelt down and took one of Jessie's wrists in his hand. Then he took off his own gloves and put two fingers to the side of her neck.

Meowth removed them after a few seconds. "It won't work if you don't use a cloth, Jimmy." He turned the glove inside out, found the inside to be just as soaked, but still bunched it over Jessie's neck.

He was surprised at how easily James took the glove from him and at the delicacy with which he laid it over her neck. "It's no use," James intoned.

Meowth tried to grab the glove back. He tried to grab the other glove and turn it inside out to use as a plug. But his arms felt like lead. His lead arms must have poisoned the rest of his body, because his thoughts were losing all form and meaning. Perceived and real sounds blended together; he's long since quit trying to take in any visual information. The only thing he could make of his surroundings was the blue. The color was draining from the scenery: the green foliage, red dirt, yellow dandelions signaling a new season, new life. All of it was looking a dull tint of blue, like an old photograph, like the bluish-silver publicity shots he'd seen tacked everywhere when he lived in Hollywood.

Then his whole vision was blue. Just highlights and lowlights and lines of every tone in between.

He soon realized he was staring into James's hair. James had picked him up and was holding him very closely. Meowth's head was propped against James's shoulder and tilted up toward the young man's hair. His hand supported Meowth's head as if he were a very young baby.

Meowth shut his eyes. He could barely hear James's murmured attempts at comforting him over the voice in his head screaming, over and over, "Jessie's dead and you killed her."

-O-o-O-

This might not be a one-shot. At least I hope it won't be (writer's block is unpleasant). It's also not Rocketshippy.


	2. More Cuts

It's not a one-shot, I've decided. There has to be more chapters.

Enjoy (as much as you can enjoy a story like this, I guess).

Disclaimer: I don't own Pokemon.

-O-o-O-

They couldn't afford a box, but there were lots of stones and flowers in the clearing, so they made do. James dug a deep hole to anchor the tombstone (not that someone couldn't easily dig it up). Meowth hammered a smaller rock into the stone for hours. By the time it was too dark to see anymore, all that graced the stone was one jagged, sloping word: JESS. They couldn't even get the ground perfectly smooth over her grave and that was all too fitting.

Dinner was a cheap salad in a nearby village. Neither particularly wanted dead meat after dealing with 120 pounds of it that afternoon (they almost immediately self-flagellated mentally for that thought). Meat was too expensive anyway.

Nobody seemed to notice an oddly dressed blue-haired man and a talking cat. Usually, Meowth would be somewhat taken aback, being used to people reacting with awe at his ability. Today, both were grateful for the silence. Too bad it was the only instance of things going their way.

They retreated back into the woods before anyone really noticed how out of place they were. They tended to avoid towns when they could—less chance of being caught and jailed (though, how anyone could believe they were competent enough to pull off a crime was beyond them).

Fortunately, they weren't sleeping outside or huddling in a cave tonight.

James unlocked the rotting doors on the shack they'd been using as a base. Meowth had the strange urge to wipe his feet before entering, though the ground outside was probably cleaner than the moldy planks of the hut. James barred and locked the door while Meowth felt around for their camping light. He flicked the switch and the single room was flooded with light for a fraction of a second. Then, as quickly as it appeared, the light flickered and died.

Meowth stared at the lantern with a dazed frustration. "That was our last battery."

James pushed the holey curtains open. "Would the moon help?"

"I guess."

As they settled in, Meowth gazed out the window. Behind him, James undressed, removing most of his sweat-drenched and bloodstained Team Rocket uniform. It was funny, Meowth thought, how he didn't notice the bloodstains right on the shoulder until he glanced at the white shirt in a heap on the floor. Maybe that was why nobody talked to them in town. They didn't want to know the story behind the stains lest they become a character in it. Meowth had managed to get most of the blood out of his fur, but there was still a pinkish tint to his paws.

He tried to forget the blood and concentrate on the moon. Watching the moon used to be therapeutic for him; it didn't seem to be working now. Then again, he'd never killed somebody before tonight.

The rustling of fabric behind him was still going. Without turning around, he knew James was brushing all the dirt, leaves, and twigs off of his pants. Meowth kept his eyes on the moon. He always refused (respectfully, he thought) to watch James undress for the night, even though he'd seen James nearly naked and James slept in his underwear and undershirt. He didn't turn away once and he felt like such a pervert—even though _she_ was in the room, talking to James and looking right at him, while they were both undressing.

Meowth jerked his head, which had slowly begun to rotate in the direction of James, back to the moon. What the hell was his problem? Their partner, their only family, their best freaking friend, was laid to rest not twenty-four hours ago. God knows what James was going through. Their lives were draining into the sewer. And Meowth had the nerve to sit there and imagine them both naked. Did he have to fail at showing proper respect, too?

If James saw Meowth glance over or turn, he didn't let on. He now wore a white tank top and black boxer shorts, both plain. He went over to the door to check that it was barred properly.

Meowth was just climbing into the lone battered bed when James gasped, holding his hand.

"What happened?" Meowth was up in a second.

James swore under his breath. "I just cut my hand. Nothing serious." He held his hand as far away from himself as possible.

"Whaddya mean 'nothing serious?' This dump is riddled with rusty nails." Meowth scrambled across the mattress to where James rummaged through their first aid kit, trying hard not to look at the red slash on his palm. Meowth caught a glimpse of it. "Jimmy, half your hand is practically torn off!"

James tittered painfully. "Oh, you're so dramatic." He fumbled for the disinfectant, unable to grip it well.

"Let me help." Meowth grabbed for James's hand, scooping up the peroxide bottle with his other paw. The bottle fell and rolled out of his reach, so he extended his claws and flicked it back toward himself.

James jerked his head away and his hand jerked slightly as well. Meowth, startled, almost dropped the bottle again. Fortunately, he had his claws to catch—oh.

He looked at James, who held back, his wide green eyes fixed on Meowth's paw, with its three sharp claws. His expression was not the usual one of admiration at Meowth's dexterity. It was of pure terror. While his face did not waver, the rest of his body took on a barely perceptible tremor.

Meowth retracted his claws, gripping the bottle normally. He reached toward James less forcefully than he had toward the bottle. "Jimmy…"

James turned away quickly, ashamed. ""I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"Let me help you." Meowth took James's hand and sprayed it with peroxide. James winced at the disinfectant sting. Meowth mopped up the excess with cotton, then wound a bandage around James's hand. Only once did James look at his own hand, and from that point on, his face was increasingly moon white.

-O-o-O-

That was kind of depressing to write.


End file.
